Bernard Brooks' Adventures: The Experience of a Plucky Boy

“I have myself.”

“But what can a boy of fifteen do?”

“He can support himself. At any rate, he can try. The fact is, Nat, I don’t think Mr. McCracken a friend of mine. I may go to him, and ask if he will make any other arrangements for me. If he won’t, I will make them for myself.”

“What will you do to-night, Bernard?”

“I will go back to Mr. Snowdon’s – creep up to my room, if I have a chance, get out a bundle of clothes, and sleep in the barn. In the morning I can start early, and – ”

“Where will you go?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Mr. Snowdon was in the habit of retiring early, and so were his family. Generally at nine o’clock they were in bed. When nine o’clock came he told Septimus to lock the door.

“But suppose Bernard comes back?”

“He can sleep out of doors for one night. It will teach him a lesson.”

He didn’t know that Bernard had already visited the house, made up a bundle of clothing, and withdrawn to the barn, where he had found a comfortable resting place on one of the lofts of hay.

It was Bernard’s intention to get up early in the morning and make his escape before Mr. Snowdon or any of his family were astir.

But a healthy boy, who is a good sleeper, cannot always fix the time of awaking. For some reason Bernard slept on till half-past seven o’clock. Septimus had occasion to go to the barn, and discovered him still asleep. He ran into the house in great excitement.

“Pa,” he said, “Bernard is asleep in the barn. I seed him.”

Occasionally Septimus, though the son of a teacher, made grammatical mistakes.

“Is he asleep?” asked Mr. Snowdon in a tone of interest.

“Yes, pa.”

“The Lord has delivered him into my hands. I will not neglect the opportunity to chastise him.”

“He may wake up when you are getting up.”

“I will take you with me to hold the ladder.”

“He might stick me with the pitchfork,” said Septimus, who was a coward at heart.

“Then I will take Bridget.”

Bridget was the kitchen drudge. She was rather a stupid girl, who stood in fear of her employer.

They went to the barn together. Mr. Snowdon went up the ladder, whip in hand, Bridget holding the ladder. He mounted the opposite scaffold, and prepared to cross to the other, when Bernard, who had been aroused by the sound of voices, made his appearance, cap in hand, and asked composedly: “What are you after, Mr. Snowdon?”

“I’m after you, Bernard Brooks,” answered Mr. Snowdon grimly.

CHAPTER IV. A ROAD SIDE ACQUAINTANCE

The position was critical. Bernard was tall and muscular for his age, but of course he was not a match for the teacher.

He was, however, cool and collected, and not at all nervous. He maintained his ground till Mr. Snowdon, with slow and cautious steps, had crossed the narrow bridge, and then ran to the back part of the loft.

The schoolmaster followed him as well as he could, but in his impetuosity he lost his balance and fell on the hay.

Bernard made a dash for the plank. Seeing him coming, Bridget was seized with a panic and hastily dismounted from the ladder.

Bernard took advantage of this, and descending to the barn floor, seized the ladder and carried it out of doors, leaving Professor Snowdon a prisoner in the barn loft.

Septimus, who was prudently standing just outside, called out, in alarm, “Where’s my pa? What have you done to him?”

Bernard was not called upon to answer, as there was an angry roar from inside the barn.

“Bring back the ladder, you audacious young ruffian!”

Bridget had fled to the house, and Septimus, who was far from courageous, ran out behind the barn.

“I think the place is too hot to hold me,” thought Bernard, and he struck for the road on a half run.

He had managed to catch up his bundle of clothes when fleeing from the angry teacher, and there was nothing to prevent his bidding a final farewell to the Snowdon Institute.

Meanwhile Professor Snowdon found himself in a quandary. He was in the hay loft, unable to descend to the barn floor.

He could indeed walk across the plank to the opposite scaffold, but that would not help him. It was certainly very aggravating. Bernard, he had no doubt, was in full flight, while he was unable to follow him.

“Bridget!” he cried. “What has become of the ladder?”

But Bridget had already returned to the house.

“Drat that girl,” he muttered angrily. “Has she left me in the lurch?”

Then he bethought himself of his son.

“Septimus!” he cried, or rather roared.

“What is it, pa?” asked Septimus, who had gathered enough courage to return to the barn.

“Where is Bernard Brooks?”

“He’s ran away.”

“Has he taken the ladder with him?”

“He took it out of the barn.”

“He won’t carry it far. Go and bring it here.”